Cry of the Hunters
by PromisedRainbow
Summary: When the ship doesn't come to rescue the boys, democracy crumbles and more blood is spilled as the savages hunt down Ralph. An alternate ending to Lord of the Flies.


He saw a shelter burst into flames and the fire flapped at his right shoulder and there was the glitter of water. Then he was down, rolling over and over in the warm sand, crouching with arm to ward off, trying to cry for mercy.

He staggered to his feet, tensed for more terrors, and heard the ululations through the cackling fire. The savages crashed into the opening, their red eyes glistening in the excitement of starved wolves, whooping and raising their spears. They came in as a small hoard, moving as a unified monster, charging with what Ralph could only see as demonic adrenaline. He stumbled in the sand, his feet sinking in the grain. Cool sea-water lapped his toes and the fire radiated on his shoulders, the smoke smothering the baby blue sky as he ran for an unknown destination. Savage cries grew closer and his lungs wheezed for the once pristine air of paradise. Ralph looked to the horizon and the ocean where they had once played before seeing a lone painted figure burst from the flames; the brown skinned savage held no resemblance to the boy he once was as he wailed and surged toward Ralph.

The savage tackled him down into the ocean, surrounding Ralph with gorgeously clear water and soft wet sand. Held down by a heavy body, Ralph thrashed in an air-deprived panic. His face was pushed into the sand by a calloused hand, his arms pinned down by the savage's knees, and he tried to breathe before feeling the surge of salt-water flood his lungs and crush his chest, and Ralph screamed into the water, panicking the glistening schools of fish surrounding him.

Muffled whoops and cheers were ululated as savages crashed into the water, an oil spill of their paint and filth spreading through the ocean. Others joined in, grabbing Ralph's shoulders and feet and tugging them in demonic playfulness, laughing and pushing his face further down until he was breathing in the sand. Then, as if calmed by God himself, the splashing ceased, and the savages stood up and pulled Ralph out of the water. He gasped his first breath, his eyes teary from salt and fear. Ralph was jerked to his feet before falling onto his knees. Two blurred figures stood before him, holding their double-edged sticks as the others made way for their chief. He blinked rapidly, clearing his sight to see Jack and Roger surrounded by savages gaping at their leader in wonderous delight.

The chief's authoritative frown loomed over him before pulling up into a devious smile. He thrusted his hand up and the hooting around them died down to a hushed anticipation. Jack pointed at Ralph accusingly. "This is the savage who fought against your chief. He dared to question me. This is what happens!" The chief motioned to the ocean. "Now he'll join the others-" He was cut off by ululating cries and applause. The cheers roused the chief and he stood taller, his chest puffed out. "Take him out deeper."

As if woken from a deep sleep, Ralph gained his voice as he was dragged up. His words turned into a scramble of noises as he tried to explain the sins of murder and the mistake they're making and how he could fix it, but as he was pulled in deeper and deeper into the water, all he could say were the bumbling pleads of a dead man.

"Halt!" They stopped. The group of savages were wading in the back, their paint smeared and sticks slung on their shoulders. "Put him under."

Just as the two savages holding him began to push, Ralph screamed. "Jack- the fire! You can't hunt- no more food, shelter… you burned all the fruit! You can't survive there! Not for long! Please, let me help, you're making a-" He was stopped by a laugh. The whole time the chief was snickering at him, and the savages warily joined as well. Before he could finish breathing his last breath, Ralph was plunged into the cold, merciless water. He flailed against his captors' grasps, clawing at their arms and legs, kicking into the air as a painted face hung over him. The looming figure raised his stick and drove it down in hysterical satisfaction.

The waters calmed to a dark red stain, Ralph's eyes staring up at the glistening sun in paralyzing shock. He gurgled out his last remaining breath, feebly pushing against the savages holding him down, swaying with the soft waves of the ocean. Roger pushed the stick further, using all of his weight as Ralph's eyes widened and his mouth opened in a silent scream.

Roger moved away as the chief motioned the savages forward. The painted figures scrambled to be the first to claim the blood. One by one, the savages chose a part, the stomach, the arm, the chest, and marked it as their own with their double-edged sticks. Each spear was driven in until the chief walked forward and claimed the heart as his own. The two savages holding down the body stood back and let the waves take the remains, and together the savages stood, united in the bloody waters of their former leader.

The savages cheered as they saw the figure float away, clasping each other's shoulders and raising their fists in celebration. Satisfied, the chief turned to the scarred paradise they razed. The hoard walked along the shore together to the fragmented remains of their home, dousing parts of their fire on the way. The march up was silent in wonderous regret as they scanned the ruins for any remnants of hunt or food. Coughs and wheezes from the smoke filled the grim air, and the chief led his tribe back onto the beach. There were murmurs of panic among the savages as they scoured the shore.

"I promised you fun and food, and you'll get it!" the chief announced, and faint cheers came from the crowd. "Tonight we rest, and tomorrow we'll hunt! There is plenty of food in the waters and the shore." Mutters of agreement grew hesitantly. They spent the night on the beach, jeering hoots and continuing their ritual, whooping and striking a savage with their sticks. They danced in a circle, their victorious ululations ringing over the crepitating fire. The fleeting concerns of hunger and survival were shrouded with blood-thirsty chants, and the island groaned, the blazing scar permanently smothering its breath.


End file.
